


Hearts Boxcars needs a break

by AcrylicMist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crack, Earth C (Homestuck), Gen, Mobsters, Sex Toys Mentioned, but its sfw, literally just crack, well-written crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrylicMist/pseuds/AcrylicMist
Summary: Running day-shifts at a shop that may or may not be a front for the mob is all well and good, cept' when a certain name in red appears to ruin a certain mobster's day.(this is crack don't take it seriously I'm just messing around)





	Hearts Boxcars needs a break

Hearts Boxcars could feel the exact instant his afternoon took a turn for the worst. 

The shift had started out boring and normal. Clubs was busy boxing up orders on the packing floor while Die worked customs in the back, and aside from the gentle tapping of Boxcar’s thick fingers against the countertop the only noise was Club’s cheerful whistling as he taped and retaped finished orders. Everything was going well, and Boxcars had let his mind wander to thoughts of dark side alleys and card suits out of boredom. 

The day shift wasn’t nearly as interesting as the night shift, when the boss reappeared from wherever the fuck lair Slick liked to squirrel himself away in while the sun was up. That bastard was probably plotting the next heist without him, but that was normal. Boxcars was the muscle, the brawn. Slick and Die were the brains of this operation and that was just how HB liked it, even if working retail for a few hours a day made him long for a good ol’ crime scene. 

But hey the day shift is what kept the lights on, so the mobster didn’t complain as he plugged addresses into the computer to check that Clubs had matched the right box to the vic- no, customer. The Dersite mobster gave his head a hard shake and rolled his shoulders. Day shift. There were no victims from dayshift activities, only satisfied customers.

_What a load of baloney._

Slick had set the whole thing up with a keen mobster’s eye and sharp sense of business. The Midnight crew’s storefront cover was air-tight, and HB took pride in a successful day’s work even as Die pushed weapons and stolen goods out the back room. Boxcars would mechanically key in the address and “adjust” the price before setting the packaged box into the ready-to-leave pile for shipping. A little money laundering never hurt anybody, right?

Boxcars paused when he saw the name and address on the next box he reached for. He blinked at the name, sighed, and scratched at his eyes before admitting that yes, there goes his afternoon right down the shitter.

“Clubs!” Boxcars thundered, rising from his chair and grinding his cigar into the ashtray beside the computer.

“Yeah, Hearts?” Clubs Duece answered, popping out from underneath a mountain of white boxes and the guts of butchered insulation material.

“Did you record this name and address correctly?” He said, feeling his heartbeat start to pound and his forehead sweat as he hefted the small box at the smaller carapacian. 

Clubs consulted the roll of online orders stapled to the clipboard at his side. “You mean the one to New Cantown, 355 SD-4 unit number 69?”

“Yes, that one.” HB said, staring at Clubs as he waited for the other mobster to light up with recognition. 

“I think so,” Clubs said, skimming over the notes he’d taken again. “Why? Did I spell something wrong?”

Gods, Clubs was not the brightest bulb in the box. Did he have to spell everything out for the little guy? “Clubs,” Boxcars said sternly. “Can you read me the name of the recipient of that order?”

HB waited as Clubs looked at the box in puzzlement. Boxcars might have recognized the address instantly, but even Clubs couldn’t miss the name printed in red across the top of the package. 

“Dave Strider,” Clubs said proudly, waving the box in the air with barely contained excitement. “Wow Hearts, do you reckon it’s _that_ Dave Strider?”

Boxcars fought down the urge to strangle something. 

“How many Dave Strider’s do you know?” HB forced out, rubbing at his brow. “Clubs, just tell me the order.” Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he was imagining. There had to be some kinda explanation. 

“Wow,” Clubs said again, pulling up the order receipt on a handheld screen. “He ordered the Sunday special with model number gL3.” 

Boxcars let out an internal sign of relief that he didn’t know those numbers off the top a his head. He might not be the brains of this operation, but he had a good memory and the shop’s more… eye-catching products tended to stick more than others. Time to access the damage. “And what’s that?”

“Dave Strider,” Clubs said, chuckling merrily to himself as he typed in the correct IDs. “To think that the Knight himself bought our merchandise!”

“Clubs!” Hearts snapped, horrified and losing his patience. “That’s well and good for you, but did you even remember the fact that we work IN A GODDAMN SEX SHOP!”

The tiny Dersite’s hands grew still as the realization sank in. “Diamonds!” Clubs called out, raising his voice. “Come take a look at this!” 

“Just tell me what he ordered,” Boxcars groaned, bracing himself.

Die appeared around the corner, his hat pulled low over his face. “The hell you guys callin’ me for?” He asked gruffly. “Unlike you buncha sorry suites I’ve actually got work to do. Boss’s orders.” There was the sound of muffled yelling from the back room, like a person calling for help through a gag. Die tapped his foot with impatience. “See?” He said, ignoring the faint cries for help. “I was kinda in the middle of something.”

“Slick ain’t gonna like this,” Clubs said, passing the box to Die. “Look at who ordered it.”

Diamonds Droog squinted at the box and rubbed at the bridge of skin between his eyes. “Aw hell,” he said. “What’d he get?”

“Two bottles of plain lube- special discount price for our weekend sale, and a-” Clubs swallowed before he squeaked out the rest. “A dildo.”

Clubs Duce wordlessly turned his screen around so that the proper model number was on display. It was a simple, plain gray hybrid model, the kind used for both trolls and humans. Not large, not small, no inner vibrating parts… just a humble dildo with two bottles of plain lube.

Boxcars had to avert his eyes. It was so much worse than if it had been one of the more outrageous models like the cockthruster8000, or the 69’s special, or even the wild cherry-flavored lube. Those the mobster could have passed off as jokes, gag gifts the Knight had gotten for the Page or the Heir. But this…

There was only one horrible explanation. 

Die raised his eyebrows. “I’m not one to begrudge a man for indulging in some proper frivolous activities,” he said calmly, “but I wish you’d kept this to yourselves. It’s hardly my concern and I don’t want to know what shape the god of Time’s dildo is.”

Clubs started chuckling- thin, nervous chuckles. HB could physically feel his blood pressure rising. His forehead was beginning to sweat. 

“Hmmm,” Die hummed, examining the package closely. “He opted for commercial shipping. Clubs,” he ordered, straightening back up. “The sooner this order is gone the better I’ll sleep at night. Upgrade him to express for free.”

“Yessir!” Clubs said, slapping the shipping label onto the box like he couldn’t wait to get it out of his hands. 

“What’s this I hear about free shipping?”

The three carapacians froze as Spades Slick casually appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing to stare down at them as if he’d been summoned by the mention of the words ‘free’ and ‘upgrades’. 

Boxcars wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. “Nothing, boss,” he tried to explain. “One of the gods made an order with us is all.”

“The Seer?” Slick said, his gaze frighteningly intent. “That Legislacerator troll?”

“No,” Die answered grimly. “Knight. Dave Strider.”

Slick didn’t relax. He prowled down the stars and Clubs gulped and obediently handed over the clipboard for inspection. He didn’t say anything as he read over the order, his good eye staring daggers through the page. 

“Do you think it’s a joke?” Clubs asked, wringing his hands together. “People give gag gifts all the time,” he said reasonably. 

“I’m more concerned about our shop’s name being known to one of the gods,” Die scoffed. “We didn’t work this hard to have our cover blown now.”

“Whaddya say, boss?” Boxcars asked, knowing that the subtle tilt to the other Dersite’s mouth wasn’t a sign of anything good. He just wanted this to be over with. 

Spades Slick calmly removed the order receipt from the clipboard and crumpled it into a ball. “What I think,” he said, snarling, “Is that you bunch of lazy wastes of common sense should get back to work!” Slick tossed the wadded ball of paper aside. “Clubs! Finish shipping out these orders. Of course it’s a joke, and we’re the ones it’s fucking aimed at! Why else would he use his real name, you morons?”

Boxcars instantly felt better. Yeah, that made sense. He could imagine the Knight seated at his computer laughing his ass off as he placed the order, his name underlined twice in bold lines of red ink. That sounded about right. 

Besides, Slick was never wrong. 

Die shrugged and returned to the back room, the muffled screams growing briefly louder until he closed the door behind him. 

“And what’s the matter with you?” Spades asked, giving HB a look of displeasure. “You look worked up.”

“What we doing tonight?” Boxcars asked, steering clear of the question. He needed a return to normalcy, something to get his blood pumping the right way, like a good honest bank heist. Those were always fun.

Spades smiled, baring teeth. “Boxcars,” he asked, “How do you feel about cracking some Felt skulls?”

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored one night and this idea wouldn't get out of my head. That's really all there is to say on the matter.


End file.
